The minor details inform the big questions.

Winter’s remedy, summer’s sport

Editor’s Note: This article first appeared in The Collegian, Grove City College’s student newspaper, on Feb. 7, 2014.

Baseball is a beautiful sport. Many writers have waxed poetic on the subject, and worthily so.

Summer calls in the smell of leather; the cracking and popping of the ball in mitt and on bat; the batter marking his territory in the dirt.

As I write, a large cap of snow sits mockingly on every large patch of grass. The arm of the true baseball fanatic begs for the ache that comes after a half hour long toss. Their legs long to stretch out across a field, any field, to run after the ball in flight.

Major league pitchers and catchers report to spring training tomorrow — not a moment too soon, as the football season came to a dreadfully one-sided end Sunday night. (N.B. the editor’s note here.)

Yet it’s funny how long a third of a year can seem. The satisfying pop in a glove a month or two from now will be the assurance that the painful months of waiting are ending at long last.

From the first ball thrown in spring training to the last swing of the bat in the World Series, the baseball season lasts over eight months. To some it seems excessive, but it truly brings out the consistency necessary to succeed in 162 games (and, the hope is, in October baseball as well).

The teams that play the best get a shot at postseason ball, and that’s the way things should work.

Instead of playing division opponents twice as in football, a team plays each of its four division rivals 19 times over the course of the summer.

Baseball’s knack for generally sorting out the best teams does not in the slightest preclude the possibility of peculiar outcomes.

Though winning and losing streaks do not take up as much of the season schedule as other sports, they still contribute to positioning. Depending on the timing of a string of six wins, a team could drastically improve its chances of winning the division.

In baseball, anything can happen on a given day. A pitcher could allow no base runners, or he could concede 14 runs over three innings.

The most remarkable thing, though, is that every pitch has the potential to be incredibly important. The batter could hit a three-run home run or line into a triple play. One swing of the bat could mean the difference between an eight-game winning streak and just another loss in a disappointing season.

My hometown team isn’t likely to factor much into the postseason race this year, but I still want to catch every game I can. Why, you may ask?

Perhaps an unknown rookie will make his debut, kicking off an unexpectedly stellar career. An accomplished base-stealer could swipe home when the opposition gets lazy. Or a play could transpire stranger than anything the imagination can mold.

I was in attendance for Kevin Millwood’s no-hitter in 2003, the last season in the dilapidated Veterans Stadium. Backup utility man Ricky Ledee provided the only run of the game on a solo home run in the first inning and tracked down the ball for the final out in the ninth, another case in point that almost anything can happen in baseball.

A true fan attends at least one game at his team’s home stadium if at all possible. It’s a markedly different experience from watching the matchup on television.

The play-by-play is directed solely by the action (and perhaps a helpful knowledgeable fan seated nearby).

The color commentary is fleshed out by the sounds of the game — the umpire barking out calls, bat hitting ball, the PA announcer booming out the batters’ names and the cheers at every mildly interesting play.

Baseball is suited to the timing of a casual conversation. There’s plenty of time to discuss all manners of things within an inning while still catching all the major plays.

Some think the pace a downside, but the reality is that so much goes on within the smallest periods of the game. The catcher gets instructions from his manager in the team’s intricately formulated system of signs while the third base coach takes signs from his own dugout.

The batter takes signs from the third base coach to know whether he should let the pitch go by, bunt or swing away. The pitcher and catcher decide on a strategy as well — what pitch to throw, where to locate it, whether to throw to an occupied base to keep the runner close.

The avid fan can pay attention to such intricacies while the casual observer converses with friends and keeps one eye on the game.

Today’s world is fast-paced, yet many ballparks still fill up. Most clubs have responded to necessity, making an extra effort to fill seats, which seems a chore in the midst of a long recession.

Many modern stadiums are built to hold fewer fans for a more intimate experience, with the added benefit of numbers that are closer to full capacity. Television ratings have dropped in many markets.

That might be okay, though — radio seems better suited to baseball anyway. A good radio broadcaster can paint the audience a picture of the field from the sweat on the pitcher’s brow down to the cleats digging in.

For me, the warm voice of the late Phillies broadcaster Harry Kalas always seemed just in place at the end of the longest days of the year.

Baseball may have lost its place as America’s favorite sport, but it continues to hold its charm. For me, that’s enough.

Dan Johnson is editor-in-chief of Three for Ten Sports and former managing editor of The Collegian at Grove City College.